Invasion Return the Blade | COV Invasion of TSC-held Humbarine

[Gel Karn]

GEL KARN
KESTRI TRAINING ARENA
TAG: Jericho Dragr
GEAR: Gel Karn's Bev Shield, Akalenedat, Mandalorian Lanvarok, Mandalorian Vibroboots, Mandalorian Magna-Gloves, Gel Karn's Bandolier, Mandalorian Jazerant, Mandalorian Recon Helmet

HELP​

As Gel steadied himself for the impending battle to come, his comms suddenly crackled to life, the sound of friendly Mandalorians ringing in his ears.

"Forgemaster Gel Karn, this is Jericho Dragr. Coordinates received. Hold position."

"Copy", Gel remarked as the sounds of banging and clanging grew ever louder with each passing moment. Though he had shut and jammed the door when he had entered onto the roof, he wasn't confident that it would hold out for much longer with whatever it was that was pounding on it from the other side. If Jericho Dragr didn't get here soon, there wouldn't be much of Gel left to rescue. Luckily for him, it didn't take long for his reinforcements to reach him.

"Forgemaster Karn. Report injuries. Are you combat-capable?"

The Mandalorian landed deftly onto the roof besides Gel, his rifle trained on the door in front of the two men, which was shaking even more violently than it had been before. Gel could see a number of dents from the impacts that the door had received, and he knew that it whatever it was on the other side was about to come through any moment now.

"Aye, my injuries are minimal. I'm fully capable of moving under my own power. What's the plan, Alor'a? I fear that door won't hold for much longer, and if we continue to dawdle here-"

As if it had heard his statement, the door finally burst off its hinges as dozens of crazed residents began rushing toward Gel and Isk as quickly as they could, seemingly unconcerned with any blaster fire that might be coming their way. Gel immediately sprang into action, delivering a powerful front kick at the nearest enemy, sending him stumbling backwards into his comrades as he and several others fell to the ground. Gel then crouched down as low to the ground as he could as he shoulder checked the next person running at him, quickly standing up as he flipped his would be assailant onto the floor behind him, slamming him into the duracrete roof. Gel then swung Akalenedat at the attackers, taking care to use the side of the weapon instead of the front facing hammerhead in order to minimize the risk of him accidentally killing the civilians attacking him.

He didn't know what was wrong with them, but it was very obviously Sith caused, and Gel doubted that the people rushing him had chosen to do so of their own violation. As such, he was trying as hard as he could to avoid killing his attackers, though they weren't giving him much choice. In fact, he was likely to be overwhelmed if he continued to stand his ground.

"WE NEED TO GO!", Gel shouted as he bashed his Bev Shield into the face of the nearest enemy, slowly retreating toward the edge of the building where Isk was located. He REALLY hoped they had some kind of plan, because if they didn't, then Gel's "rescue" was going to be a rather short lived one...

​

 

[Kjartan Hammer-Hand]

---

---

​

OBJECTIVE 2: CRACK THE SHELL
TAG:
OPPS: Seris Velmora | Emissary of Strife | Vesper Thrace | Tavi Corvask
ALLIES: Seva Beroya | Romul Saxon | Yolaghun | Lorcan Nanu​

​

KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND​

THEME​

​

For a moment, Kjartan could feel victory in his hands as the blade of his sword punched through her guard and slid through flesh and sinew. But that moment soon faded.

He could feel a chill run down his spine as the force began swirling about them both. Normally, the warlord would have wasted little time bringing the flat of his hammer down to try and crush his foe’s skull upon the durasteel floor paneling; yet his arm hesitated.

Anger flooded into the space it left behind. Her breathing slowed. The crimson glow of her sabers reflected in furious yellow eyes. "You..." The word came out low. Dangerously low. "You hit me."

Her words struck him as though they were a strike from her blade, or some pulse through the force. That hesitation... would cost him dearly.

An explosion of force erupted around them, throwing Kjartan back and forcing his blade from its place in her chest. A part of him thought the strike would prove fatal, yet the ferocity and strength with which she acted proved otherwise as unnatural agility saw her spring from the ground and upon him in a flurry of action. Her first strike had threatened to completely disarm Kjartan, with the force alone throwing him off balance into a spin to the left. He could feel the tug of his muscles as they strained from the impact of the blow.

As he exited the spin, he barely managed to parry her second attack with his beskad, knocking his guard wide. He tried to seize the initiative once again, launching an off-balance strike with his hammer - only for her third attack to gain a decisive advantage upon him. Whether it was through martial skill, the will of the force, dumb luck or a combination of all three - her third strike would reach the gap in his armor along his left fore-arm, and cleave through the underlayer, bone and flesh beneath.

The Mandalorian’s grim resolve was replaced with a white-hot burning pain, causing a guttural scream to exit his bearded lips. He fell to his knees, and it took every ounce of his discipline to avoid dropping the one weapon he still held while his left forearm and hammer fell to the ground - severed from its host. But he was again, exposed to the fury of the Sith lady before him who was focused on reckless vengeance against the man who wounded her. Before she could land a final blow, the last remaining sword-brother charged at her - launching a full-bodied tackle into her midsection to try and grapple her to the ground.

Three more brothers, who were bounding toward their chieftain from the landing of the breaching pods, reached the warlord and quickly set about pulling him to his feet to fall back while the other leveled his weapon to try and cover the retreat. One of the pair assisting Kjartan keyed his comm between grunts of exertion. <“Caris, status report! We are getting beat to haran here.”>

---

---

Literal hellfire was all that could describe the chaos within the command substation. The lead-warriors within the breaching maneuver found immediate success in killing the impaired front ranks of stormtroopers, but soon were engulfed in sticky flame all across their frame. Primal screams of pain echoed through the chamber, both Imperial and Mandalorain, with Caris and what Mandalorians remained ducking back behind cover on the other side of the door. “OSIK!!!”

As the curse exited Caris’ lips, venting her thoughts whilst her mind raced in the milliseconds to spare for a solution, one would appear seemingly from thin air. She heard the chaos before she saw it; a 1-foot tall creature wreaking terrible mayhem amongst the flame troopers. Lorcan fecking Nanu.

He opened the command channel as smoke rolled across the ceiling and the Imperial rear line descended into confusion. <The cowardly flame-giants have been subdued. Advance, vode. The Mini'alor has generously spared the enemy computers so that you may retrieve my captured intelligence.> The deck lurched again beneath him. Warning lights strobed crimson across his light-blue armor as the stricken Star Destroyer continued tearing itself apart.

Lorcan drew his beskad and leveled it toward the nearest surviving Imperial Marine. <Also, this vessel is poorly constructed. We should steal a better one next time.>

“I always knew you had the biggest balls in the room.” Caris said through her helmet speakers as she and the rest of the team walked up to the Minilorian. What warriors remained set up a defensive perimeter, while one of their number walked up to a surviving computer terminal to begin the download process.

It was then that blaster fire began to echo down the corridor, all while rumbling began to intensify around the ship - to the point of nearly knocking them all off of their feet. It was then, that a void from among the group spoke up - the second-most senior warrior to Caris. “Caris, we don’t have much more time left. These Imperials have a death wish - we’ll need to fight our way back to the pods now if we’re going to stand a chance.”

There was a silence amongst them, only broken by the punctuation of blaster bolts. Caris glanced down, but then looked with renewed purpose. “We have our orders, and we will follow them. These Imperial bastards will pay for trying to trap our brothers.”

A loading screen appeared on the terminal the tech worked on, with the download progressing steadily. Caris removed her helmet, revealing a young, and rather comely face. Her jawline was strong, yet with a feline elegance - and her eyes glittered a bejeweled blue that flashed with resolve. She pointed at the screen. “The moment that download is finished, you take that data stick and you haul ass out of here. We will buy you time.”

---

---

[OOC: Sorry my fleet post is brief, my main focus is on the boarding stuff above. Just keeping things moving]

“KEEP FIRING! TAKE DOWN THOSE INTERDICTORS NOW!” The forgemaster’s voice grew hoarse as klaxons began to blare around them, and flashing light cast the bridge into a baleful red. The massive armaments of the Buurenaar’gam focused on the fleeing interdictor - autocannons, missiles, heavy turbolasers and all; enough to decimate a city, concentrated on the fleeing vessel all while the other cruisers of the warfleet set about finishing the devastation of the first one to fall.

The situation grew desperate, with the organized lines of the Mandalorian host kept together by sheer willpower and discipline alone. The basilisk war droids buzzed angrily amongst the Imperials, lashing about against the TIE swarms around them.

Spoiler: Ship Status

• Buurenaar’gam - Ha’rangir-class Star Destroyer
  • Shields - [Moderately Damaged]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Jai’Galaar-class starfighters x3
• Kalden’kad - Brok’ur-class Heavy Assault Cruiser
  • Shields - [Moderately Damaged]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Jai’Galaar-class starfighters x1
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x2
• A’den Beskar - Brok’ur-class Heavy Assault Cruiser
  • Shields - [Moderately Damaged]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Jai’Galaar-class starfighters x1
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x2
• Akaan'ar - Cabur-class Escort Frigate
  • Shields - [Light Damage]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Nynir Ekurak starfighters x1
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x1
• Sapan’vod - Cabur-class Escort Frigate
  • Shields - [Light Damage]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Nynir Ekurak starfighters x1
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x1
• Akaan’uliik - Cabur-class Escort Frigate
  • Shields - [Light Damage]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Nynir Ekurak starfighters x1
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x1
• Gaht’yc Woor - Cabur-class Escort Frigate
  • Shields - [Lightly Damaged]
  • Armor - [Light Damage]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Nynir Ekurak starfighters x1
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x1
• Yai’me’suum’ - Dalab-class Strike Carrier
  • Shields - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Armor - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Superstructure - [UNDAMAGED]
  • Squadrons:
    • Nynir Ekurak starfighters x4
    • Jai’Galaar starfighters x4
    • “Howler” Basilisk War Droids x4

Spoiler: Summary of Actions

• Kjartan loses a hand, and is being pulled back to the boarding pods by his men.
• Caris (npc lieutenant) and company secure the command station, and begin downloading the data it holds.
• The Fleet continues its assault on the interdictors, desperate to secure a means for escape.
• Kjartan is no longer aura farming.

​

 

[Vesper Thrace]

MOTHER MERCY
[THE VIBES? STILL IMMACULATE]​

Vesper had considered the question Tavi asked, too. What were the Mandalorians doing? Did they know?

"Your guess is good as mine," she responded as she studied the table. "But you know what they say: don't interrupt an enemy while they're stepping in poodoo. Something like that." The ship was turning ponderously, but the time gave them ample opportunity to provide covering support for the Tukatas and the boarders they were supporting, the Mother Mercy's powerful broadsides arcing through space. The hope was to distract and delay the reaction of the enemy to the boarders.

"Captain," called Banderos. "Four of our Tukatas have been slowed considerably. Some sort of tractor beam. Shall I have them draw back?"

"At this range?" Vesper grunted, watching the blips fall behind their fellows. She watched in real-time as the shield readings began to descend. "No withdrawal. Press forward. Tell the others to push it and make it snappy!"

Banderos nodded. "Three Tukatas now within striking range of their flagship."

"I have eyes," she reminded him dryly. "Report when they've made progress. Oh, and -- " Vesper indicated a line on the tactical display, where she hoped to line up the ramming run on the Mandalorian flagship. " -- task some of them along this line, if they have the opportunity. Whatever that ship is made of our scanners suggest it is difficult. My faith in the laws of physics notwithstanding it might not be a bad idea to, ah... soften them up a little, que?"

She saw the recognition dawn on Banderos' face. "Right away."

The fleet that Mother Mercy had escorted through the Nether arrayed around, adding their firepower where appropriate. The freighters and dropships and other boarding vessels clustered under the protective cover of larger ships, or else had darted forward to flit through the blind spots of the Mandalorian ships, on the theory that even Mandalorians wouldn't risk turning their powerful guns toward their own ships.

Cold comfort as the last of the four targeted Tukatas winked out of existence, destroyed by the Mandalorian fleet. Heart heavy with frustration and grief, Vesper turned her dark gaze back to Tavi. "What are you waiting for, Corvask? Fire!"

Spoiler: Summary of Actions

• Shooting, shooting, shooting! As the Mother Mercy swings around to line up for a ramming run on the Gra'tua Dral, she is providing cover fire for the Tukatas and boarders.
• Four Tukatas slowed and subsequently destroyed by the Mandalorians.
• Tukatas have begun to fire up their atomic-bond-collapsing laser against the Gra'tua Dral.
• Still having the best time <3

___________________________________________________________________

Allies: TSC | Tavi Corvask | Emissary of Strife
Enemies: Mandalorians | Romul Saxon | Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Seva Beroya​

 

[Seris Velmora]

Tag: Kjartan Hammer-Hand

The scream was beautiful. Seris laughed as Kjartan dropped to his knees. The severed forearm clattered across the deck beside its hammer, bouncing once before coming to rest amid the smoke and sparks. Blood sprayed from the ruined limb. The mighty warlord who had wounded her moments before now struggled simply to remain standing.

Victory. She could taste it. Her chest rose and fell heavily as she stared down at him, crimson blades humming hungrily in the darkness.

"There you are." The anger remained, but satisfaction bled into it. "I knew you had a weak spot somewhere."

The Sith stalked forward. One more step. One more swing. One more strike and it would be finished. Then she made the same mistake again. She enjoyed herself. Too much. Her attention remained fixed on Kjartan. On the blood. On the victory. On the look of pain hidden behind that visor.

The remaining sword-brother slammed into her a heartbeat later. The tackle hit like a freight transport. Air exploded from her lungs. "OOF!" The impact folded her over and hurled both combatants onto the deck in a violent tumble.

Pain immediately flared through the wound in her chest. The fresh injury split wider beneath the strain. Fresh blood soaked through her clothing. The sensation was enough to make stars flash across her vision. For a moment neither combatant held the advantage.

They crashed together against a bulkhead. Armor. Limbs. Weapons. Bodies tangled in close quarters. Seris found herself nearly chest-to-chest with the Mandalorian. Breathing hard. Pinned awkwardly beneath the momentum of the tackle.

She blinked once. Then smiled. Of course she did. "Well." A wheezing laugh escaped her. "Congratulations." Her yellow eyes met the visor inches from her face. "You actually got me."

Blood stained her teeth. The smile widened. "Most of your friends couldn't manage that." Her free hand slid lazily along his armored side. Almost affectionate. The sort of motion that might have meant something entirely different in another circumstance.

"You know..." She tilted her head slightly. "You're much cuter up close." This flirtation was made more humorous by the fact that the Mandalorian wore a helmet. Then her fingers closed around one of her saber hilts.

The Mandalorian likely realized the problem at the exact same moment. Too late. The emitter was already pressed between his cuirass and backplate.

SNAP-HISS.

Crimson plasma erupted directly through his torso. The blade punched cleanly through armor gaps, flesh, organs, and out the opposite side in a burst of light and steam. Seris held it there for a second. Just long enough. Then deactivated it.

The body slumped. Motionless. "Good effort though." She shoved the corpse aside and slowly climbed back to her feet. Pain stabbed through her chest immediately. Her amusement faded.

Not entirely. But enough. Across the corridor she saw movement. Fresh Mandalorians. Reinforcements. They were already hauling Kjartan away from the fight. The wounded warlord remained conscious, though barely.

Blood marked his retreat. Seris stared after him. For a moment she considered charging. Ending it. Finishing what she started. The deck suddenly lurched beneath her feet. Another explosion echoed through the dying Star Destroyer.

A warning klaxon wailed somewhere deeper within the vessel. Time. For the first time all battle. Seris actually thought about it. The Mandalorians had their wounded leader. She had hers. The ship was dying.

And another target still remained. Her gaze drifted down the corridor toward where she had thrown the injured sword-brother earlier. The grin returned. Predatory. Cruel.

"Run along, Mandalorian." She raised one crimson blade in a mocking salute. A growl accompanied it. Half challenge. Half promise. "We'll finish this later."

Then she turned away from the retreating Mandalorians entirely. The wounded sword-brother was still somewhere aboard the ship. And Seris suddenly remembered she had promised herself a second round. Twin crimson blades illuminated the corridor as she began stalking deeper into the dying vessel. One Mandalorian left to kill. Then she'd worry about escaping the self-destructing Star Destroyer.

​

 

[Arris Windrun]

Acier Moonbound Lily Rhodes Tamsin Starfall Varin Mortifer
CC: Mercy Srina Talon Meliant Eurydice Quinn Varanin Darth Carnifex Vess Sadragen Garza Inari Astra Sadow Lysander von Ascania Romul Saxon Carduul Akahl Kaelyr
---
Down & Out​

Windrun exhaled sharply at Ace’s question. Her eyes flicked back to the dead Mandalorian by her feet, then to the roaring sound of explosions where artillery had struck. Somewhere beyond that horizon, the Mandalorian dropships, shuttles, and other troop transports waited to extract the last of the survivors they came to rescue, and the whole army they brought with them.

Arris wondered. Why Humbarine? It was supposed to be a clean coup with dead imperials as the main dish.

But this… The carnage… The kind of war that only Sith could wage - apocalyptic forces brought to bear.

She hated it. She hated it on Coruscant. She hated it now. Hers was a hatred carried for a long time now, pent up or deflected away. Lest it cause her to lose control, to become the very kind of evil that repulsed her. That thought alone was the nail, and Lily’s mindlink the hammer. It shoved in, cracked, and destroyed the fragile shell.

It was their fault.

They came to Humbarine. They caused this carnage.

No, Arris Windrun would not see the shadow of blame that stretched long from her feet. Not when her eyes looked to the horizon, to the sky where their ships trickled up. So they thought they could weather the storm?

The revolver slipped from her fingers and clattered on the duracrete. Her hand stretched out, fingertips running along the invisible threads of the Force. In her mind, along Lily’s link, she touched the surface of Quinn’s darkness - emotions like a ghostly hand guiding her every intention.

At the center of the storm, clouds shifted, and red lightning rippled.

Their fault.

And punishment would come.

Windrun brought her left arm to join the right, metal fingers tensing along her force-imbued cybernetic form.

For Arris, the power of a Sith came from the worst places.

When you hate yourself enough… Loathed and surrendered…

When she looked at Neriah now, she realized something. That all of this was disgusting. That they - She, Mercy, Vestra. All of them. The whole Covenant needed to be put down.

Let the Dark Side break you…

What had been burning now erupted in an explosion of Dark Side power as she gave in completely to the Hatred. It was as if the storm above them changed directions, waves of raw emotion manifest, made palpable.

Then there was little you could not do.

So they thought they could weather the storm?--She reached out, adding her will - her hatred - to the storm. The gale twisted and swirled, picking up speed. Her intention lay bare across the mindlink.--Then they would have to be shown just how wrong they are.

But for the kind of obliteration Arris desired, she could not do it alone.

 

[Jericho Dragr]

OBJECTIVE 1: BELLY OF THE BEAST
LOCATION: Humbarine City | Evacuation Corridor
ALLIES: Gel Karn | Iron Covenant
ENEMIES: Sith Covenant | Imperial Forces

Spoiler: Loadout

M.I. Model 38 Blaster Rifle
M.I. Model 6 Hybrid Pistol
KS-8 Kinetite Slugthrower
DD-557 Droid Decimater Ion Pistol
Burbr'tracyn Whistling Birds
Irya'kadir Smoke Bombs

AMMUNITION:
Standard Slugs
Grulyr'bedtr CryoSlugs
Tracyn'wuta Pyro Slugs
Hurdisi Photonic Blackout Rounds

"WE NEED TO GO!"

Isk agreed. The civilians surging across the rooftop had not chosen this fight, but that did not make them harmless. Gel was already giving ground beneath the weight of the crowd, turning aside grasping hands with his shield and striking with the side of his hammer rather than the weapon's killing face. Isk shifted the M.I. Model 38 to stun and fired a series of controlled bursts into the front ranks. Blue energy dropped the nearest attackers without throwing bodies from the roof, creating a narrow pocket of space around the two Mandalorians before the residents behind them pressed forward to fill it again.

"East roof." Isk stepped between Gel and the crowd as another wave reached them. The shockwave generator discharged from his gauntlet in a measured pulse angled back toward the ruined stairwell. The impact struck the leading civilians as a broad wall of force, driving them away from the roof edge and tumbling them into one another across the wet duracrete without hurling them over the sides. The respite would not last long. It did not need to.

Isk moved to the eastern edge of the rooftop and glanced across the gap toward the neighboring building. It was too wide for an ordinary jump in armor, but narrow enough for a short thruster-assisted crossing. He extended one hand toward the Forgemaster while keeping the Model 38 trained upon the recovering crowd with the other. "I can get us across. Move when ready."

---

Elsewhere across Humbarine City, the other branches continued their separate work. Aurek and Esk kept the Sith gunship hunting reflec-painted silhouettes between the towers, shifting angles whenever its searchlight found one of them and forcing the rotary cannon to chew through empty offices instead of wounded vode. Herf continued dismantling the Legion detachment sent toward the compromised AA tower, firing from one shattered window and then another before the scattered troops could recover their cohesion. Dorn and Forn remained behind the withdrawal columns as a moving rearguard against the crescent-marked hunters pushing through the miasma.

The fifth survivor pocket had reached the landing zone. Grek guided the terminal survivors into the protection of the armored escorts while Besh and Cresh delivered the wounded recovered from the maintenance tunnels and industrial district. Gold remained at the mouth of the southern avenue, her armored bulk positioned between the boarding vode and the fog as another dropship descended through the storm.

The airspace above the LZ remained crowded with danger. TIE Predators tore through the rain alongside the surviving blood-red Defenders of Glaive Squadron, pressing toward the transports whenever the Covenant fighters left even the smallest opening. Basilisk war droids and Mandalorian starfighters met them above the towers in a brutal tangle of cannon fire, missiles, and fleeting silhouettes briefly illuminated by crimson lightning.

Static cracked across the Mandalorian channels.

AWACS Watcher
«Do not relent. Do not despair. Press on, Mando'ade! Press on!»

Besh and Cresh had already handed their survivors over to the LZ escorts. Neither remained idle. Their shared display marked two isolated anti-aircraft emplacements overlooking the lower flight lanes, close enough to threaten the transports but far enough from the command block that they could be taken without committing the entire network to another prolonged assault.

Besh reached the first tower through a maintenance access route beneath the avenue. The garrison crew had already begun to fracture beneath the pressure hanging over the city. Two soldiers shouted contradictory orders over one another while another fired blindly into the fog from the platform above. Besh emerged from the stairwell behind them and settled the dispute with three disciplined bursts from the Model 38. The surviving crew scattered before they could identify where the attack had come from.

He crossed the control platform and established a direct interface with the local console. The security locks collapsed beneath the intrusion suite built into his systems. Besh did not waste time rewriting the battery's targeting architecture or trying to seize the broader network. He released the local safeties, forced the controls into manual operation, and took the firing station himself.

Cresh approached the second emplacement from above. His thrusters carried him across the gap between rooftops in a brief controlled burst before he dropped behind the gun housing and fired into the soldiers still manning the platform. One fell before he could turn. Another abandoned the controls and ran toward the access stairwell. Cresh ignored him, connected directly to the battery console, and stripped away the local locks until the weapon answered to manual input.

The first captured battery rotated toward the storm. Besh tracked a cluster of hostile fighters diving through the lower lanes toward the next departing transport and opened fire. Heavy AA bursts tore into the fog ahead of their approach, forcing the formation to break apart before it could settle into an attack run. One Predator vanished behind a flash of fire. The others climbed sharply away from the tower coverage and scattered between the clouds.

Cresh fired seconds later from the opposite side of the corridor. His battery caught the surviving fighters as they adjusted course, stitching the airspace above the LZ with another barrage and denying them the clean angle they needed to descend upon the dropships. The two emplacements did not control Humbarine's skies. They did not need to. Their overlapping fire created a narrow local umbrella through which the evacuation ships could move.

Gold recognized the opening immediately. Her cannons snapped toward a TIE that slipped beneath the captured batteries and drove it away from the nearest transport before she opened a channel to the dropship crews. ://: Friendly batteries. Launch now. Stay low until you clear the towers, then climb hard. :\\:

The first dropship lifted from the ferrocrete with wounded vode aboard. A second rose behind it while the next transport settled into the space they left behind. Besh and Cresh continued firing manually into the approach lanes, forcing the hostile fighters to choose between climbing into the broader battle overhead or descending through intersecting AA fire. Gold remained close to the ships, engaging anything that broke beneath the temporary umbrella without abandoning the boarding Mandalorians to chase damaged enemies into the storm.

Grek stayed at the LZ with the armored escorts, directing the newest arrivals toward the waiting transports and marking the wounded who needed assistance boarding. The rescue chain had become more orderly as the local corridor widened. Every shuttle that climbed through the rain carried another pocket of survivors away from Humbarine. Every empty space on the ferrocrete gave the next ship somewhere to land.

Isk tracked that progress through the shared tactical display as he moved south across the rooftops with Forgemaster Gel Karn. The rain and miasma concealed the route ahead, but the Covenant signals beyond them were moving steadily toward the LZ. Behind them, cursed residents spilled across the rooftop they had abandoned, trapped on the wrong side of the gap and rapidly disappearing into the fog.

Another tremor passed through the buildings as something enormous moved through the distant streets. Crimson lightning split the eclipsed sky. The storm continued to deepen around Humbarine City, and the hostile air cover remained dangerous beyond the narrow window Besh and Cresh had opened.

The corridor held.

For now, that was enough.

Gel Karn Anet Raine
​

​

 

[Iris Beroya]

STRILL 6 - SKIES ON FIRE
ATMOSPHERE | HUMBARINE
GOAL: Recover Alor Warnel
TAG: Emissary of Strife Brent Warnel
GEAR: Jai'Galaar Starfighter

Music​

So when Iris’ Jai’Galaar raced for the storm, the Baron’s fiery Avenger fell in behind it like a demon pursuing souls through the Netherworld itself. Indeed, that was where he intended to send them.

"You have the stick," Iris replied, pushing him aside as she began to stand up.

"I have the-" Brent started to say, but was cut off when Iris hit the cockpit hatch release and jumped from the fighter into the storm-laden air.

"Iris!" Brent shouted, head whipping around to try to follow her figure in the sky. It was no use; the ship was moving too fast, and the sky was too dark for him to pick out a single figure in the air

Three weeks ago:

"This is called the Renzedook maneuver after the Mandalorian who did it. Never do this."

"Then why are you showing us?"

"In case you need to do it."

***

This is what happened.

Iris plummeted through the air below the storm for a heartbeat of absolute stillness, rain pelting her beskar armored form as she snapped a timed charge off her belt, then she kicked on the thrusters of her jetpack and roared up just as the incoming TIE piloted by Baron Donnic came into view.

The heads up display spewed statistics and numbers as she timed the maneuver and activated her whipcord launcher at the passing TIE. The launcher snagged on the passing wing strut, then yanked violently and Iris let out a scream of pain as she felt her shoulder nearly torn from her socket, the acceleration of the jetpack not fast enough to prevent the sudden pull.

The whipcord pulled her up until she crawled on top of the TIE's strut, slapped down the charge, then detached the cord, deactivated her jetpack, and fell away.

She held out both middle fingers as she fell, activating the charge with her helmet's HUD.

"Get fu-." The explosion rocked the skies.

She tumbled down through the skies before kicking on her jetpack and hovering there, buffeted by the wind and rain, until she fell right back into the cockpit of her Jai'galaar as it passed below her. This time onto Brent's lap.

"Oof."

AMIDST THE BLUE SKIES, A LINK FROM THE PAST TO THE FUTURE.
THE SHELTERING WINGS OF THE PROTECTOR
This is an NPC Story
Emissary of Strife Romul Saxon Carduul Akahl

///...loading
...
..
.
[[ HUMBARINE: ATMOSPHERE ]]
[[ MISSION RESUME ]]
TIME ELAPSED 00:21:05
TGT GND-AA

STARFANG WING:
Ghest Squadron | Svaper Squadron | Darkwolf 1 & 2

And...

More.
​

Their capital wracked by a Force Storm, zombie hordes, a rage virus, a haze of fog, and a dark eclipse - and now watching a second fleet appearing out of nowhere bearing the insignias of the same people who had sacked their former capital of Coruscant, it was a wonder the imperials didn't turn all guns on the newcomers. Somehow, amidst the chaos, they set their aims on blockading their own planet.

Swarms. Swarms of TIEs. Of Predators. And if that wasn’t enough? The survivors of Glaive Squadron, in their blood-red Defenders, broke through a gap in the carnage on a line for the dropships that punched through ahead of Strill 6.

Ghest 2
«Shields down to ten percent! I'm winchester on missiles.»

Darkwolf 1
«Accelerate.»

Svaper 3
«There's too many of them!»

Ghest Lead
«Faster! Fa- AAACCK-chhhhhh»

AWACS Watcher
«Protect the dropships, whatever the cost.»

Svaper 3
«I can't hold it.»

Ghest 2
«They're all over us!»
​

Suddenly, bursting through exploding predators and TIEs came a sight more beautiful than the angels of Iego - low orbit squadrons of Jai'galaars and Basilisks come to save their comrades.

"You will get your corridor," Gallius roared back, louder than he intended, determination flowing through his veins.

Fang Lead
«Starfang Wing, fall in.»

Claw Lead
«Alor Saxon sends his regards.»

Talon Lead
«For the Vode.»​

Together, the combined strength of the starfighters of Starfang Wing punched a hole through which the dropships poured, streaming into the hangars of the nearest Mythos vessels.

​

 

[Mercy]

MERCY

EMPRESS | WARLORD | STAR-ARM

Location: HUMBARINE | Objective: BRING THE STORM | Allies: Srina Talon | Enemies: Siv Dragr Sahan Dragr​

She felt the pike find purchase and sink deep into something and it made her almost cheer in triumph. Sadly Mercy couldn’t enjoy the thrill for long. Something was wrong. She heard it in the machinery of his equipment. The way the beskar’gam whirred, the way the joints whined and more importantly… the way the jetpack started to growl in agony. Eyes widened and looked up towards Srina, their eyes met, but even with only a breath between them… the distance was too far to bridge.

The explosion was already upon them.

The world went white.

For the first time in a long time Mercy was no longer in here and now. All her senses had been deafened, forcefully and in that heartbeat Mercy could not feel anything. That was a blessing, because the intensity of the pain would have been novel even for one so familiar like her. Instead her presence shifted outward. Through Graspborn, her golden arm, she saw for the first time the ties that bonded her to those around her. The thick cord that stuck from her to Srina, forged across battlefields. Another one sprinting out and on the other end would be Quinn Varanin , who seemed to be struggling with her own existential crisis. Mercy would be no help there, she did not understand it, and so she disregarded it. A fresh link between herself and Lily Rhodes , spitfire and fury, who was trying to contain the storm of Mercy’s mind and prevent it from corrupting the subtle web she was forming. Poor child. Lily was trying so hard and the adults in the room were hardly in a helpful mood.

Finally the plethora of links connecting her to the Graspborn surging within the city. They were dying and they were surviving. They were laughing and they were screaming. All of it had come from the teachings she had never wished to give them. The wildness in the way they slaughtered Imperials and Mandalorian stragglers alike. As Srina had said before, they were her children, even if she didn’t wish to acknowledge them as such normally. And they were making her proud with their ferocity.

Then she was wrenched from the vision as liquid fire washed over her flesh, burning her shoulder and arm, immediately calcifying the canyon ridges cut into her skin from previous wounds.

She blinked and the world looked wrong. Red on one side, black on the other. Mercy huffed, hissed as she climbed back to her feet. Right on time to see Sahan Dragr yank Siv Dragr out of the firing lane. It went by too quickly to see what sort of damage the explosion boy had incurred and neither did Mercy care.

Not now.

Blinking vision and Mercy finally realized why the agony was so much worse now than it had been before. In the reflection of ice, the Sith Lord noticed that half her face was missing. Burned pitch black and obsidian, one eye melted away and the other bleeding. This is why she couldn’t lick her lips. Half of them were gone, exposing jagged sharp predatory teeth to a world that had done nothing to deserve seeing the maw of the hungry Empress.

That one eye only had one shape in mind however. The second Empress, who seemed fine, if a bit pissed off. Mercy laughed, the sound more a coarse wheezing than the full tenor that people were used to from her.

Every step was agony but somehow the Core Empress managed to reach Srina’s side.

Srina pulled herself up from the ground and her back met something solid. The arm that slid around her waist was massive, stained with blood, and warmth pressed against her spine.

Right as Srina pulled herself up Mercy was there, her golden arm wrapping around her waist, because currently her normal one was less than useless hanging off of her shoulder. Already bones were breaking themselves inside of her, a body that knew only one shape, forcing itself back into it. The pain hissed from her broken mouth, but Mercy kept going, for one single reason.

If she gave up, her battle-sister would be left alone to face these helmeted cretins.

I got you. Mercy wished to say, but it came out slurred, sharp, more guttural sound than true words.

Instead her forehead settled on the back of Srina’s, to pass the meaning on through the only true way they knew. Bodies pressed together. Forming a line of communication as ancient as the Echani were.

Then she felt a violent tug inside of her. It didn’t take a genius to find where it was coming from, Srina again, this time not pouring her strength in… instead drawing strength out. Mercy opened herself up to it. In that moment of agonizing pain it was so easy to rip the last remnants of her mind open and allowing the storm to sink into Srina.

Feel what I am… the totality of me. Mercy pressed upon the Core Empress.

Her breathing hitched when the river of loathing she had expected revealed itself to be an ocean that boiled with equal parts hate and joy. For someone like Srina who was so cold, so collected, it made her feel both angelic and violently insane…How did the Core Empress live like this? How did she function?

Srina forced herself to breathe. To exist through the pain, to refine what she felt, rather than let it overwhelm her.

Again Mercy cackled and once more it came out as… not quite wheezing. She growled in pain, as her mouth, broken, began to set itself again. But it did nothing to still her amusement, Srina so cold and full of frost. Always in control. For it to be her to dip into the maelstorm that was Mercy’s mind and drink from it?

She wondered if that would have any lingering effects.

The one remaining eye flicked up at movement in the sky. That was the only thing that managed to kill her amusement. It was that infernal Mandalorian again, aiming his gadget and while Mercy could handle it… she felt Srina in her arms. So strong, so fierce, but currently wrapped in whatever incantations that had required tapping from the endless pool of her own strength. She would not allow it.

Mercy’s body curled in, shielding her battle-sister as best as she could. A third time the blast hit the Empress, burning into her flesh, slowing down her healing process as internal cells were forced to recalibrate. That was the tough part, what to prioritize. If they focused on keeping her force sensitivity, her flesh began to burn and crisp again. If they focused on the latter, the whole healing process slowed down.

Instead… Mercy was caught in the purgatory between life and decay. She was dying and then she was being reborn, over and over again. But Mercy found that a worthwhile gambit, because she felt the quiet thrill within Srina… and saw the storm rising before anyone else did. All the pain that Srina was experiencing, Mercy was taking from her, drawing into herself. While exchanging it for durability, allowing Srina to keep pushing, harder, more. To destroy their foes here and across Humbarine’s city-planet sprawl.

It was awe-inspiring, it was brilliant and as the thunder bolts started to surge down on the Mandalorians, Mercy knew she would never see something as beautiful ever again.

“Die.”

The storm above answered, not with one bolt of lightning…

But with all of them.

Not all of the bolts landed on or near the Mandalorians. A wild storm was at its core not something fully controlled. One of them came towards them and Mercy knew Srina was too focused on feeding the storm to worry about this. She need not to. Her golden arm reached up, unfolding into those tendrils that could rip and tear. And served as an attraction point, forcing the surge into Mercy. It ripped through her, cooking her from the inside, even as she burned from the outside.

The pain was agonizing, but Mercy was not a stranger to painful delirium. Even as her body went through this new torture, Mercy would push its power straight back into Srina and the response was instantaneous. Amplifying her strength even more. Where the bolts touched the ground, they would begin to melt it, fracturing duracrete and causing wide rips in the stone right where Siv had been.

.

ERASE THE PAST

 

[Astra Sadow]

​

A sharp cough was followed by a wet spitting sound. Astra rolled her head forward to stare out the gaping hole in the building. Damn Mandalorians.

Slowly, she reached up with her right hand to remove the glareshades from the bridge of her nose. Half of one of the red lenses was missing. Astra sniffed as she regarded the ruined accessory. A flick of the wrist sent the broken optics into the rest of the rubble strewn about the room where she laid sprawled out. Damn Mandalorians.

She reached into her red jacket to pull out a thin case. It popped open and a fresh set of glareshades were plucked from their housing. A soft click, and the closed case was slipped back into the pocket. Astra took her time unfolding the wings and setting them atop her nose.

Astra pushed herself up and rose to her feet. It hurt to move, but pain was an old friend. She turned her head from side to side, and paused with a slight lean to one side. Her hand lifted to conjure the long rod from where it'd fallen back to her grasp. Well, even damned Mandalorians couldn't break a good blade. Not even with their precious gunship taking a potshot at her with ordinance the side of her head.

One step at a time, she drew closer to the gaping hole. A swipe of her left hand swept the lingering haze of dust away.

That's when she saw it.

"Typical."

It was always going to end up this way. Astra had been laying wards and ushering grunts into the every crevice and the Undercity to weather it. Only way their plan had a chance in working. You couldn't stage a coup and take control of a city -- even a planet-city -- if everyone was dead. And the roiling, black clouds with the piercing streaks of lightning that lit up that void amidst the growing, scouring wind was just the sort of thing long in coming; a force eager to annihilate the living and tear apart the flesh with pure rage. Get a bunch of powerful Sith together and it was inevitable. Nightmares brought to life.

Some no name planet and Astra wouldn't care. Base of operations for the Mandalorians that had the gall to attack them? Perfect. But Humbarine... It was always conjured where you least wanted it.

There was only one thing you could do when the harbinger of ruin appeared. You couldn't stop the End of All Things. But you could manage it.

Astra shoved the hilt of her blade into the holster. With a crack of the neck, she let out a hiss as the Dark coursed through her veins.

Envision it. Feel it. Embrace it. The growing edges of the storm. Undefined and rough. A whisper on the wind desiring so much more. Arris Windrun 's Tempest in search of a tea pot. Astra reached out to it to guide it. Shape it. Contain it. In giving it a definition all that rage being fed into it could grow stronger. More ravenous. It wouldn't spread out and become diluted over an even greater distance. That was as far as Astra was prepared to go for her allies. They'd have to fuel it. Erasing this part of the city off the face of the planet wasn't her design, but if it made stronger practitioners of the Dark Arts who was she to deny them their moment? At least armageddon's touch could be corralled.

Shafts of lightning slammed into nearby buildings and upon the ground close enough to Astra she could feel the air itself cooked. A grimace followed as their roar sought to break what windows its blast didn't touch. A reminder that Astra could carry some ear plugs with her for times like these... then again, she hadn't expected a bunch of Mandalorians to trigger a full on Sith Maelstrom. This was supposed to be a day full of subtle threats and the exchange of favors.

Silver lining, Astra couldn't feel the ache in her body any more. Her head was pounding from the concussive assault of the storm.

Glareshades | Clothing | Jacket | Vest | Tie | Gauntlets | Belt | Boots | Broadsaber
Holdout Blaster | CommLink | Dagger​

 

[Carduul Akahl]

The Foe: Meliant
Opponent Tags: Isobel Serraris , Eurydice
Ally Objective Tags: Feydrik Munin , The Arkanian , Iris Beroya , Darion of Myrkr , Romul Saxon , Koda Fett

A void was left in the wake of his blow, earning a furrowed brow from behind the mask. Truly, there was no bounds to the wickedness of the foes he fought against. To forsake one’s own body- for what? So that one could not feel the pain? Perhaps as part of some deal for more power? The myriad of causes were lost on him.

The individual across from him so obviously made his bed. There was no reason to spare further thought on one whose path had already ended. The sudden appearance of corded steel wrapping around and a blaster bolt only exacerbated this. Yet even as the figure stood with a hole for a face, he had a feeling this was not over. And of course, it wasn’t. Dread threatened at his senses. The incomprehensibility of such unnatural arts was sure to shake any individual, no matter who grizzled. But Carduul would stand firm- because there was simply no other choice.

Uneven odds. War always had a cost. Do or die. The options for escape were quickly narrowing. Yet, if this figure was left standing, their retreat was all the more likely to fail.

As the hand of the void-shrouded figure reached out, there had been a swift shift from his raised stance to cut it swiftly downwards in an attempt to interrupt whatever sorcery it was attempting. Alas, he was too late- the damage was already done whether his hit was evaded or struck true. There was a brief widen of eyes as the other Mandalorian was engulfed and sent flailing elsewhere.

Today, he would simply have to put his faith that their cause was just, and fate would decide to stay the full of its terrible wrath, today. As with every battle he fought. Though, what he hadn’t expected was that fortune would show itself in the form of a distraction. The sudden appearance of a veering armored transport careening into a nearby building. There was the barest moment of silence and confusion between the trio. Yet, it lasted hardly more than a breath.

If this abomination wouldn’t die, he would simply make sure he couldn’t pursue them further. As Fett had kneeled, his own weapon had twisted aside- aiming to deliver a harsh, low cut across the knees, in an attempt to ground them further with the bolts that pelted legs from a different direction.

 

[Emissary of Strife]

NPC ENGAGEMENT: Iris Beroya | Brent Warnel | Romul Saxon | IRON COVENANT
Force Hydra
​

“Hm… Hmm… Hm hm….” Donnic hummed the Humbarine national anthem, composed by Bao herself, if you believed the propaganda.

Wait, was that --

The Baron saw what looked awfully like a person plummeting between the superstructure and the wing.

Better to be safe than sorry.

He slammed the controls, rapidly spinning the starfighter in a barrel roll. The sudden force ripped the taxidermied lothcat from the pedestal, sending the stuffed critter careening around the cockpit.

“Wiggles!!!”

The Avenger was in terrible shape, and during the spin, flaming metal stripped off in whole pieces, including the bit of the strut where the charge was laid. It exploded close behind the ship, tearing apart the wing’s rear.

A sudden loss of stability, coupled with the severe, cyclonic gale, twisted his flightpath into a descending corkscrew. There was little else he could do without outright being torn apart. However, his fighter now pointed down at the Jai’Galaar.

The rotary cannons spun, spewing a rapid streak of green lasers - for Wiggles!

---

The battlespace above the storm was ever chaotic, to say the least. Glacier’s death had sent a panicked zeal across the fleet, as their ideological maxims demanded sacrificial slaughter rather than retreat or surrender.

The two battlecruisers continued to storm the TIE swarms with anti-fighter weapons and countermeasures, joined by the measured relief of Jai’Galaars and Basilsks. Indeed, swarms that they were, the Imperial starfighter wings could not possibly destroy every single dropship, let alone the ones delivered safely by Starfang Wing. However, Glaive Squadron - joined by several predator wings - had cut across the center of a group of escaping dropships, unleashing a mass of firepower on those still trapped between them and the storm below.

NPC ENGAGEMENT: Kjartan Hammer-Hand Lorcan Nanu Yolaghun Seris Velmora Vesper Thrace Tavi Corvask Romul Saxon Seva Beroya
Humbarine Defense Fleet​

Things were not good aboard Spirit Breaker. That wasn’t new information, but it had gotten worse, much worse.

Because the klaxons stopped.

No, the emergency wasn’t over.

Power began to fluctuate all across the ship. Lights flickered in some halls, in others, they shut off entirely. Life-support failed, too, and then the gravity. That didn’t mean everyone was suddenly suffocating, of course. For terrible reasons, there wouldn’t be enough time for the survivors to deplete all the oxygen trapped aboard the Star Destroyer.

Inside the substation, where Caris and her men pressed to secure critical data, dead stormtroopers drifted in the zero-G. Victims of a death they hadn’t had the time to process, embarrassing. The only source of light was the active flashlights on their floating weapons, painting a crisscross of white rays.

Oddly - or perhaps, fortunately - the computer was not only intact, but alive, supported by an emergency power cell. The data on it was corrupted, but somewhere inside those irreparable ones and zeroes was something worth taking: Partial logs of Sith patrols in the Humbarine and Commenor system, and the location of an imperial secret cache, the kind of backup plan devious captains like the one lying dead on the bridge keep around in case it’s time to form a new remnant. Ships, weapons, munitions, credits, lots of credits.

A score, to say the least. A victory made dour only by the fact that there was a rumble near the rear of the ship, as the reactor core finally detonated. Heat to match a star’s wrath poured outward in a powerful wave, vaporizing the armor and hull, and meteoring its surroundings in fiery debris.

For those still on board, it was a race against time if they were very, very lucky and managed to hitch a ride. For anyone else? Farewell.

A fireball to the scene of two interdictors being hunted down by Hammer-Hand’s fleet amidst the chaos of the Imperial Blockade. One of the two in particular had been straggling. Bombarded by heavy fire, its engines failed amid an ugly battle where ships of all sizes - from tiny predators to hulking star destroyers - traded blow, after blow, after blow.

The blockade held, in a fashion, trapped between the planet and the Mythos Fleet, reduced to the heavy line alone and a few surviving light ships. Several ISDs and their complements were battered, broken, or outright destroyed. The Serrated Claw pressed itself into the carnage, unleashing its heavy firepower upon the Buurenarr’gam. At this point, it was a gambit to do as much damage as possible. Glory to their names so that they might be remembered in the christening of the next Empire’s armadas.

Spoiler: Actions

OBJ1:

• Donnic rapidly rolls his starfighter to dislodge the Mandalorian, ripping apart the outer layers of his ship from the damage and the forces of the storm.
• The explosive charge is dislodged during the roll on a piece of metal torn from the strut during the maneuver. It detonates close behind the Avenger, damaging the rear wing and sending it in a downward corkscrew.
• Donnic realigns his starfighter and fires the rotary cannons down on the Jai'Galaar.
• Above the storm, the two Mando battlecruisers continue to cut into the TIE Swarms and the blockade.
• Glaive Squadron, joined by a few predator wings, cut off some of the escaping dropships, fighting aggressively to bring them down.

OBJ2:

• Power fails all across the Spirit Breaker. Gravity, life support, lights. Gone.
• Some partially recoverable data is presented on a computer in the command substation.
• A very tiny Mandalorian has slaughtered a lot of very normal-sized stormtroopers.
• The Spirit Breaker finally detonates. Creating a very scary race against time for anyone trying to get off alive. Those who don't get a quick, fiery death.
• The Imperial Blockade is quite battered, reduced to the core heavy group, but holding on. The Serrated Claw engages Hammer-Hand's big bad ship in a duel of titans, in part to rescue the surviving interdictor.
• One of the two interdictors is disabled and getting torn apart.

Wiggles May 28, 2026 - June 8, 2026

​

 

[CT-312]

//: Allies: Allyson Locke Emissary of Strife //:
//: Enemies: The Iron Covenant//:
//: Humbarine//:
//: Attire //:
//: Bounty Hunting //:​

CT-312 sat in the darkened cockpit of an old Imperial Fighter. Armored shoulders framed by the cramped cockpit as her gloved hands rested near the controls without touching them. A slicer droid had vanished into the narrow gaps beneath the control console earlier. Its tiny legs clicked behind the panels as BARCA threaded itself into the fighter’s systems.

A quiet huff escaped. It was another conflict. CT-312 didn’t mind war. That was what she was designed and made to do. This one involved the Sith Covenant… and the Princess ( Quinn Varanin ) was with them again.

Of course she was.

Another low sound left CT-312 through the vocoder. A tired and deeply irritated mix of a sigh and a growl. There she sat, listening to the Sith Covenant's comm frequencies inside a forgotten hangar within another fighter. Her ship, the Dûr'ashaarai— Caligo — was off to the side on standby. It too was as irritated as she was. BARCA kept its systems in check, its impatience pulsing through CT-312.

It was the perfect place to stay hidden and close enough to monitor the situation. To keep better tabs this time. Earlier CT-312 had sent a pack of Pred-X, scattering them around the city. Each one carrying slicer droids that dropped off, slipping and embedding itself into the whole city’s infrastructure. BARCA was filtering everything. The data and feeds moved across CT-312’s HUD in controlled layers, the attention was towards the Princess.

CT-312’s gaze lifted beneath the visor. The HUD still showed the same information… but the air had changed. It was familiar. She felt it and saw it on Coruscant and Brosi. A storm engulfing the planet side of Humbarine. Then there was an absence. Sudden and sharp. A disappearance through the bond that had left CT-312 with a sickening sensation of reaching for a hand and finding nothing there. Her gloved fingers tightened slowly over the edge of the seat.

This was different… Quinn was there, but.. Not there. It was a faint flicker through the static. The pressure she felt became unpleasantly familiar. A deep hollowness, a sadness. For a moment, CT-312 could feel her own heartbeat and the silence surrounding her became deafening. Her jaw set beneath the helmet and before she understood why, she murmured “Quinn.”, too low for anyone but BARCA to hear.

The HUD shifted. A sharp ping cut across the cockpit and helmet.
<:// BOUNTY NOTICE //:>
<:// Bounty Hunter ID: CT-312 //:>
<:// Location: Humbarine //:>
<:// Client: The Governorate //:>
<:// The Governorate is offering credits to any freelance pilots in the area willing to protect shipping interests as evacuation is underway. //:>

CT-312 stared at the notice for a moment. “Convenient.” BARCA chirped once. Notifying the Scout of a nearby signature inside the hangar. An unknown contact moving into close range. She glanced at the tag and dismissed it almost immediately. The hangar was full of old ships and the bounty had gone out wide. The odds of that unknown signature choosing the exact fighter—

The cockpit hatch opened above her. CT-312’s hand moved toward her sidearm. “UNF.” The impact drove a sharp grunt, muffled by the confines of her helmet. Something heavy dropped hard into her lap. The bounty listing displayed on the HUD disappeared. Black leather filled her visor as a body landed across her thighs, wriggling and shifting around until it settled. ‘What the shi—’ Then a familiar voice muttered:

"Maybe this is why you were abandoned…" She grumbled under her breath. As she ran her hand along the ship's panels, the engines began to flare, coming to life. Going through a quick preflight checklist, Allyson was happy with the results. It seemed the ship had no issues, was full of fuel, and ready to go.

CT-312 blinked. Abandoned. Her hand hovered near her weapon while the other remained locked against the side of the seat. ‘The Fuc—’ She blinked once more. The fighter's systems woke up beneath the touch of the intruder. Console lights blinked, changing from dead amber into active green as the engines began to climb in pitch. CT-312 remained silent, not calm… but silent.

The fighter’s locks released from its hold and the pilot fired the ship's guns into the sealed hangar doors. Within seconds the TIE surged forward. Acceleration slammed CT-312 back into the seat and the body in her lap was driven harder against her armor, pinning her under leather and the audacity while the fighter screamed out of the hangar and into the storm.

Irritation flared within CT-312. The Dûr'ashaarai fighter took that as a sign and exited, following closely behind. A growl dragged itself out of the Scout and broke through her helmet’s voice modulator and emitted low through the cockpit's trembling speakers as well.

“Get.” The control panels flickered and the engines cut.

“Off.” Its metal frame shuddered violently as the thrust vanished. The fighter hung in the upper atmosphere with the storm around. Then the nose dipped and the fighter began to free fall.

“Of.” Warning lights erupted across the console. BARCA shrieked in CT-312’s helmet, a rapid series of alarm tones and angry binary as the ship lost lift and pitched towards the planet in a clean suicidal dive. The harness bit into her armor and the person in her lap was a very real inconvenient weight right now, trapped between her and the controls.

“Me.” Every button on the console lit at once. The engines ignited with a violent howl. BARCA forced itself through the navigation systems and seized the fighter, dragging it back from the dive.

The TIE screamed as it leveled out, its auto-cannons firing a couple shots as a Mandalorian fighter cut across their path. BARCA adjusted, ready to take aim once more. Caligo appeared in front. Crashing through the Mandalorian fighter in a clean cut, leaving only behind a fireball and metal debris raining down. Just as quickly the Dûr'ashaarai fighter appeared, it vanished. Staying close by.

With that out of the way, the fighter rolled. Not gently. One wing dipped and rotated through the storm until Humbarine’s battered sky and the city’s destruction hung above them in a disorienting smear. They were flying upside down. CT-312 was still strapped to the seat. The unknown idiot that decided to just hop into her lap?

For a moment the only sound was the thunder of the engines and BARCA’s furious beeping. Slowly, CT-312 angled her helmet to look at the person. This time noticing more. Black leather jacket and a face she had seen before. The Sith Order’s Champion. Yet there was something else that was itching at the back of her mind. “Allyson Locke.” Recognition did not improve her mood. Her voice came out rough and restrained, not fully deciding what to do with… this.

“What do you think you’re doing in my ‘abandoned’ ship?”

 

[The Arkanian]

THE ARKANIAN
COMMAND CENTER | HUMBARINE
ATTN: Meliant Carduul Akahl Koda Fett | Eurydice
GEAR: See Bio

Meliant turned to look at the juggernaut as it swept by him, observing its ruinous path through the urban wreckage.

The Arkanian dusted himself off and looked back at the wreckage of the juggernaut, half-buried in the far side of the command center. He shook his head, looking back at Terror, the enormous oggmiri lizard beside him.

"Makes you think, huh, makes you think."

The Arkanian started walking, trying to find his way out of the ruined wing of the command center. Blissfully unaware of any Force horrors or illusions thanks to the ysalamiri-like field of Terror and his own Force Dead nature.

Sometimes, when the average person could cause a city ending apocalypse with just their mind, it paid to be genetically enhanced to - you know - not be affected by it.

The Arkanian found an emergency exit and stumbled out into the heavy rain of the storm.

“Not the best spot for a vacation, eh Terror?”

Croooooak.

"Yeah. I think so too.”

He fished out the detonator from his pocket and squeezed it.

Behind him, the juggernaut tank’s fuel cells imploded in a gargantuan explosion.

Chuckling, the Arkanian limped his way toward a nearby shuttle. It looked intact. Mostly.

“Serendipity.”

Music​

 

[Yolaghun]

STAR DRAGON
OBJECTIVE 2: CRACK THE SHELL
LOCATION: Humbarine Orbit | Exterior of the Spirit Breaker
ALLIES: Mythos Fleet | Iron Covenant
ENEMIES: Humbarine Defense Fleet | Imperial Forces​

Spoiler: GEAR

Armor: Drahr'gam, Krayt Round Shield
Weapon: Drahr'kad​

White-blue plasma had already begun to gather behind Yolaghun's teeth when the Hammer-Hand's answer reached him through the static.

<“Buy us whatever time you can.”>

The approaching fighters were still there. Yolaghun released the breath weapon in a brilliant arc through the darkness, forcing the nearest TIEs to scatter before the plasma could swallow them. One did not turn quickly enough. White-blue fire washed across its hull and sent the ruined fighter tumbling away from the Spirit Breaker. The circling Basilisks surged after the others, turrets flashing as they drove the Imperial craft farther from the boarding route.

Yolaghun did not follow them. The Hammer-Hand had not asked for more wreckage.

He turned his attention back toward the wounded destroyer beneath his claws. Another violent shudder traveled through the vessel. The strange impression at the edge of his senses sharpened with it, no longer subtle enough to ignore.

Spicier.

Warning glyphs flooded his display a heartbeat later. Reactor temperatures climbed beyond the limits of the failing containment systems. Radiation spilled outward in rapidly rising waves. His armor translated the danger into measurements and increasingly urgent alerts, but Yolaghun scarcely needed them anymore. The pressure beneath the Spirit Breaker's armored skin had become impossible not to feel.

The Hammer-Hand's men were still aboard. That alone was reason enough.

Yet something deeper stirred beneath the thought. The rising energy pressed against senses older than his armor, sharp and searing and strangely familiar. Any sensible creature would have fled from the doomed vessel. Instead, some ancient and wordless instinct reached toward the growing pressure before Yolaghun fully understood what he intended to do.

He followed.

Yolaghun was already close to the place where the impression felt strongest. He drove his claws into a warped seam in the destroyer's hull and pulled. Heat had softened the plating from within, but the metal refused to yield quickly enough. White-blue plasma gathered once more behind his teeth before he released it at point-blank range.

The hull glowed beneath the blast. Yolaghun plunged his talons into the incandescent metal, tore away a section of ruined plating, and forced himself through the opening.

The Spirit Breaker was dying around him. Emergency lights flickered across buckling bulkheads before failing entirely. Loose debris drifted through compartments as artificial gravity sputtered and vanished. Each new convulsion sent fractured metal twisting through the darkness, but the glare ahead gave Yolaghun all the direction he needed.

He carved his way deeper, tearing through barriers already weakened by the heat. The pressure intensified with every meter until it seemed to claw at him from all sides. His armor filled his vision with warnings faster than he could read them. Somewhere ahead, containment systems strained against forces they could no longer hold.

Yolaghun reached back. There was no carefully considered technique. No system built into his armor. No certainty that what he intended was possible. He simply opened himself to the runaway energy and pulled.

The reactor answered. Power surged into him in a violent rush. Plasma-blue light spread between Yolaghun's scales and spilled through the seams of his armor. Arcs crawled across the plates protecting his body and snapped against the ruined walls around him. His claws dug into the deck as the first wave struck, forcing him backward despite every effort to hold his ground.

He pulled harder. The sensation that had once seemed merely spicy burned through every thought that was not the task before him. Each fragment of runaway energy he dragged into himself was another fragment that could not tear through the vessel unchecked. Another sliver of time for the Hammer-Hand's men. Another precious moment for the boarding pods to clear the doomed ship.

It would not be enough to save the Spirit Breaker. Yolaghun knew that before the containment systems finally failed. The pressure continued to build no matter how much he drew into himself. Metal ran molten across the chamber. The destroyer lurched violently beneath his claws. The glare ahead intensified until the entire world became blue-white fire.

Still, he held on. The Hammer-Hand had asked for time. Yolaghun would give him every moment he could.

The reactor ruptured.

Starfire swallowed the young dragon whole.
​

TAGS:
Kjartan Hammer-Hand Seva Beroya Emissary of Strife Romul Saxon Lorcan Nanu Seris Velmora​

 

[Lorcan Nanu]

THE SHIP IS LOST
LORCAN NANU
OBJECTIVE 1: CRACK THE SHELL
LOCATION: SPIRIT BREAKER — MAINTENANCE SHAFTS / COMMAND SUBSTATION
ALLIES: KJARTAN HAMMER-HAND | CARIS AND THE MANDALORIAN RAIDERS
ENEMIES: IMPERIAL MARINES​

---

The klaxons stopped.

Lorcan Nanu stood atop the surviving console at the rear of the command substation, beskad held aloft and palm blaster leveled toward the nearest Imperial Marine. The warning lights flickered once, twice, and then vanished entirely.

Gravity vanished.

Dead stormtroopers, discarded weapons, and fragments of shattered equipment drifted upward through the sudden darkness as the Spirit Breaker lost its artificial gravity. Loose debris spun lazily through the chamber, illuminated only by the narrow beams of flashlights still attached to floating rifles. Lorcan remained precisely where he was, his clingboots locked against the metal console with a quiet magnetic click.

The rotund giants had clearly neglected to prepare for the obvious possibility that the floor might cease functioning.

Blasterfire continued flashing down the corridor as the surviving Mandalorians maintained their defensive perimeter. The terminal beneath Lorcan's boots flickered stubbornly on, sustained by its own emergency power cell. A loading bar crawled steadily toward completion.

Lorcan looked down and waited.

The indicator turned green. The Mini'alor crouched and wrenched the data stick free before anyone else could reach it. The device was nearly as long as his forearm and considerably bulkier than dignity demanded. Lorcan examined his prize briefly, then secured it across the back of his beskar'gam like a captured standard. A suitable prize.

The terminal had survived its earlier duel with Lorcan only because he had generously permitted it to do so. Its surrender was therefore his by every meaningful interpretation of the rules of warfare.

Lorcan opened the command channel. <The enemy intelligence has been secured beneath the personal protection of Lorcan Nanu. You may all run along to safety. Leave the remainder to the dashing hero.> He turned toward the ventilation shaft through which he had entered the substation. It now hung several meters above the drifting debris, although the distinction between wall and ceiling had become needlessly subjective.

Lorcan fired his threadline. The hook caught against the open grille, and the powered reel drew taut, pulling him from the console in a graceful arc through the zero-gravity chamber. His jetpouch flared briefly to correct his trajectory as blaster bolts streaked through the darkness behind him.

The Mini'alor vanished into the maintenance shaft.

His clingboots found purchase along what had formerly been the wall. He marched briskly through the passage as the dying vessel rolled beneath him, ducking beneath drifting cable bundles and stepping around fragments of torn insulation. Where ruptured sections interrupted the corridor, short bursts from his jetpouch carried him cleanly across the gaps.

Lorcan knew exactly where he was going. Of course he did!

The Spirit Breaker convulsed. A terrible rumble rolled through the vessel from somewhere far behind him. The maintenance shaft buckled with a shriek of tortured metal as heat surged through the walls. Lorcan's threadline snapped outward and caught an overhead pipe an instant before the passage pitched violently beneath his boots. He held fast as the ship tore itself apart around him.

A wave of smoke, fire, and shattered plating rushed through the route behind him. The corridor folded inward beneath the impact, crushing conduits and sealing the path back toward the command substation beneath a twisted mass of durasteel. Lorcan released the threadline and turned toward the next junction. Three passages branched ahead of him. One climbed sharply upward toward the outer hull. Another descended deeper into the darkness. The third had ceased to be a passage at all.

The Mini'alor studied his options in silence. <The enemy has reconfigured its labyrinth in a cowardly attempt to contain me. This was predictable.> Lorcan selected the upward passage with complete confidence.

He was not lost.

The ship was lost.

Kjartan Hammer-Hand Emissary of Strife Seris Velmora Yolaghun Seva Beroya Romul Saxon​

 

[Meliant]

Attn: Carduul Akahl Koda Fett

The Mandalorian lunged at him again, just after Meliant had lit up his buddy by crushing the jetpack. His sword came up, quickly parrying the blow. Steel shrieked, Meliant laughed, and it was difficult to say which of those two sounds bore more harshly on the ears.​

​

He snapped at Carduul, nearly indignant, "Too slow! How can you be so..."​

​

Then of course, the juggernaut passed them by, and Meliant could not help but trail off and look away.​

​

That was when a high-powered blaster shot took him in the knee, and a few more in the hip and torso for good measure. Meliant half-buckled, almost lost his footing. Bits of golden armor and scraps of armorweave scattered across the dirt in place of bone fragments and chunks of flesh.​

​

The other Mandalorian seized the moment and swept the Emperor's legs. The blade neatly severed one at the knee - the one that had been shot - and dented the plating on the other.​

​

There was a lot Meliant could get up from, provided he had the limbs to do so. As it stood, smoke billowed out of the brand-new stump and he hit the ground again. He sputtered out a laugh, the way someone laughs when they're desperate to appear to be in on a joke. He waved the point of his sword weakly at Carduul and tried to pull himself away with his other hand.​

​

"Cheating," he called, sing-song, mocking, as if having caught them trying to hide it, "You cheated. You both-"​

​

Meliant glanced towards Koda to include him, but saw only a wall of fire bearing down.​

---​

​

Fire should not harm a child of Vahl, but Hasuras Na-Amoun had given up that ghastly religion in the same moment he had given up his mortal coil. Fire flooded through his armor, and for the first time in some years, he felt pain. True pain.​

​

He screamed like no living creature possibly could. It was an indescribable terror. Worse still, he had no lungs, so there was never any pause to catch his breath, nor could he choke and die and fall silent from the smoke. It carried for a mile or more.​

​

Pain, of course, even the agonizing kind, is not the same thing as dying... Though it might sound like it. Pain is foremost a useful catalyst for wielding the Dark Side.​

​

So the screaming suddenly cut to silence, and the flames began to burn hotter than the flamethrower allowed, and they began to coil around Meliant with a mad life of their own.​

​

Laying there, he could still see the sky, and saw the flight of Mandalorian dropships making their daring escape. Hounded as they were by the Sith, some exploded, some crashed again, but in the hollow space that once held his heart, he knew he had failed - because for every bird they snared, another would return to its roost. How many had lived? How many had he failed to kill?​

​

He attempted to sit upright, seething and burning miserably. Through the churning flames, he could see the two Mandalorians, and they could see his armor turning to slag, the armorweave that underpinned it steadily disintegrating. He hurled invectives at them in the hissing language of the Ancient Sith, but these were barely audible.​

​

All the better: these were words unsuitable for printing.​

​

In what was to be his final act of the battle, Meliant unleashed the fire on his hated foes - a great wave surging outward, amplified by the Dark Side, to sweep them away and sear skin to armor.​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Feydrik Munin​

As the Sith ravaged the city, the air seemed stripped of oxygen entirely. From experience, a fighter's intent always changed when they decided to keep going; impressive, really, after hearing the man's diaphragm work overtime from the lightning. But then, most worked around the pain and not straight through it.

"You're not so bad yourself. Better than most I've put in the ground."

In moments such as these there was only one direction.. forward. His own stance began shifting; an attempt to make him a smaller target. The feint wasn't sold, nor the next strike. Kasir read the buildup through hip rotation but it didn't matter; the kick caught him mid-breath and reflexes failed against the sheer torque. Ribs didn't just rattle; they bent into a sickening like compression that violently forced more oxygen from the Sangnir's lungs.

The world of Humbarine blurred as the saberstaff left his grasp and skipped across the street. At first, he didn't stagger; he reset. The right foot pivoted once more, shoulder rolling forward; never had he been one to leave the chin exposed upon a silver platter. Vision tunneled, edges serrated by pain, but his unnatural foundation held.

And now? He was in the pocket. The jab was snapped first, knuckles centered on impact. A second was sent down the pipe to create an opening in his guard. Then, the floor of Kasir's spine ignited, driving a rear uppercut from the root. Hips fired like a piston, the power surging upward.

That pale hand was a kinetic point of malice.

There was no time to watch the result; that would've been a death sentence. Lunging forward, his chest slammed against Beskar. Two anvils colliding. The sprawl was chaotic before hitting the street akin to a mass graveyard. A tangle of limbs ensued, and so the oldest truth hit him; there were no more weapons to hide behind. Just ugly grit in proximity.

Kasir's breath hissed as canines bared in the dark. Extinction was an intimate affair; he hungered to watch the light bleed out of his foe's eyes.

 

[Riffraff Ranat]

Tags: Efret Farr , Casimir Thorne
& ALL GROUND FORCES with personal devices equipped w/ speakers

"Behind the scenes," she agreed. "I'm not going to speak, but I'll tell Drice what to say."

”Righto Drice,” The ranat gave a quick thumbs up to both the young man and her associate then turned to dive back into the work of commandeering the academy’s communication infrastructure.

A few more preparations, quick adjustments, and the purple slicer hijacking university power grid to power the amplifiers she’d brought to boost their signal far beyond normal expectations. The ranat merely nodded in confirmation of the restless of rebel forces, signed a quick ”four dozen”, then affirmed with sweep of two fingers across her chest and down, with a bob of her closed fist in the slang sign for “hells yeah” about them seizing an opportunity here.

Then they were live.

:: This is HAAS with an emergency broadcast. :: he announced.

:: Do not fear the Sith Covenant, nor their allies. I repeat: do not fear the Sith Covenant or their allies. They have come to our aid, to push the Mandalorians in our streets off world, an enemy that would have had our world, our livelihoods, our shared hope for freedom. ::

Riffraff could feel her body begin to jitter with adrenaline and the thrill of a job that was about to reach flow state. Fishing a deathstick from one of her overall pockets, the ranat tucked it in the corner of her mouth. Thinking better of lighting it around all the sensitive equipment, she merely chewed the end while she put the finishing touches on her impromptu command center.

One final touch allowed for all broadcast speech and sound effects to be translated into written format with a slight delay for processing. The transmitter/ receivers out there in the mix would do their part by spreading her signal. For devices without audio capabilities, text packets would be delivered in their stead. Time to really crank up the misinformation campaign for the benefit of TSC.

:: Right you are, boyo. DJ Rift joining you today for this special emergency broadcast ::

Her handle was the first in a series of verbal codes to their rabble-rousers. She’d trickle in a few more keywords for any who tuned in late or were understandably distracted by the chaos of their surroundings. The well meaning freedom fighters would think this their opportunity to undermine Imperial control and find themselves with more of a fight than they could handle.

Thank goodness for the long reach and fast response time by the Sith, they would think.

At first, the ranat merely guided last minute efforts by essential civilians to find hidey-holes to wait out the overturn of power, carefully sewing anti Imperial and invader sentiments alike. Soon after she was reporting with well feigned shock in her gravely voice at the brutality of Mandalorian forces, the utter uselessness of Imperial law and order against such foes.

Then her “techno-map” began lighting up with data about those freaky powerful wizard types and that’s when the ranat really started to highlight the efforts of those fearless rescuers.

:: Holy bantha chit, Drice. The mother of Sith is here in the flesh — I am hearing reports she’s with the Empress of the Core to protect the people of Humbarine. Don’t envy the rust buckets and suit’n’tie types that get in their way eh? :: ( Srina Talon & Mercy )

Swiveling in her chair, Riffraff punched a few commands into her switchboard to begin feeding snippets of information out in batches to various personal devices. The trick was to send them in bursts of updates so the flow of information felt somewhat natural amidst the chaos.

:: Getting word from caring corporate sponsors. They’re just as fed up as you all! There‘s offers of financial support from Sanguine Enterprises, Spore Industries and a few others. Seek cover, wait out the worst of this, then sign up with them to see how you can help rebuild Humbarine in your vision of the future :: ( Astra Sadow )

The text version being sent out would include contact information for those organizations that wanted a slice of the recovery efforts.

:: Things are really heating up over in the main conflict zone. Reports of a big muscled man on fire and a group of warriors have people concerned but my data shows them as promusing opposition to those beskar brutes. Help ‘em out if you can! Or stay well outta the way :: ( Varin Mortifer et al)

Then a troubling few pings had the ranat bark a warning, wanting to keep civilian and even rebel forces well away from that which was beyond their comprehension or the reach of her piecemeal propaganda machine.

:: Reports of maddened soldiers near the administrative sector are causing concerns about a possible pathogen. Steer clear, I repeat, anyone untrained and unfamiliar just steer well clear of that area. Our corporate supporters will have to evaluate that and decontaminate before we risk anymore civilians there :: ( Anet Raine , Eurydice , et al)

On she went, her raspy voice offering updates and planting seeds of thought. Opinions provided which sounded reasonably factual given their urgency and the circumstances. She made ample space for Efret to chime in via Drice so they could weave a tale of Imperial incompetence, Mandalorian brutality, and Sith efficiency.

 

[Anet Raine]

Madrona A’Mia | Eurydice | Astra Sadow | Meliant | Efret Farr | Astra Sadow
​

Anet kept scrolling through the feeds. Many had been rendered static. Others corrupted. Non-visual data fared better. Overall, the destruction seemed largely contained to the districts surrounding the government district, where the administration building and command complex were kept. Though the growing storm overhead... Anet looked up at the ceiling. She could feel the Dark Side thick in the air; her mask fed on it passively.

"Eurydice," she spoke softly into the microphone. "I am going to go now. Take care. Keep up the good work." Click. She was unaware that the skittish acolyte was in any sort of trouble.

Anet grimaced as a sudden pain stabbed at her forehead. She reached up, fingernails scratching the black mask. There was a rush of alien emotions - things she would not have felt. The experience didn't play well with the heightened euphoria brought on by A'Mia's hallucinogenic spores. She ultimately had Lily Rhodes to thank, not that she knew.

"Ugh!" She groaned to herself.

Now was not the time for a splitting headache! The scholarly acolyte had a report to draft for the Triumvirate.

Anet turned away from the feed, content that Eurydice had things under control, and left the room. She marched back into the Governor's Office, where his cold corpse still lay on the shiny floor. She stepped around it this time, not over, and took a seat in his big, fancy leather chair.

"Ooh - ergonomic," she remarked with a smile.

Lest those horrible thoughts continue to plague her, the Sith reached up and removed her mask. Her power - her connection to the force receded within the alchemized artifact.

There was a sigh of relief... She set the mask down, propping it up against the holoframe of the Governor and his perfect family. "That's better."

Plucking one of his datapads, Raine got to work. Naturally, she was an effective author, or so she felt (academic, after all). That said, she intended to keep things largely accurate... If not clean for confidence.

Per your expert arrangement, the Sovereign Imperial Governorate of Humbarine has been overthrown. Both the central administration and command complex have been seized, along with essential records, with the help of one of our new corporate allies. My master, Madrona A'Mia, has been most brilliant as well. I would humbly recommend her for every accolade My Lords see fit to bestow upon her. There is also the matter of this Eurydice; I haven't heard of her, but she really took charge of the commandeered war assets, integrating them shrewdly into our offensive.

That was enough glazing, she thought. Time to dig into the meat.

At first, I was concerned that these intruders would jeopardize our mission. However, they retreat as I write this---I do not believe it was ever their intention to conquer the planet. In fact, I believe there may be a silver lining here. Another element to the chaos, joining the resistance in wearing down the Imperials, and unlike the former most, they have no plans to stay!

As for the cost, while the loss of the shipyards is disappointing, the impact is well mitigated. Fondor, Kuat, N'Zoth, and Fresia already meet our manufacturing needs in both engineering talent and output. I believe we can spin this as an investment opportunity for our corporate partners to dig their claws into the desperate Humbariner psyche. By approaching their welfare, we can saturate the economy with surplus from other core worlds and seize upon the inevitable recession to draft favorable labor contracts, bringing back empowered corporations to Humbarine. Oh, I imagine Bao would be enraged, wherever she vanished to. There is much profit to be had if we're clever.

She tapped her chin in thought.

If I might be so bold as to speak strategy. I believe we should capitalize swiftly on the propaganda front. I was skeptical at first of Efret Farr's and Riffraff's approach. It felt crude. Simple. Yet judging the impressions for myself, it does appear that easily digestible messages are far more appealing to the masses than a nuanced, critical truth. Even in the chaos of war. By establishing a propaganda arm, under the direct purview of the Triumvirate, and led by a loyal and effective servant...

Her report continued on and on. It got quite detailed and boring, especially when she started including projections and statistics.

 

[Romul Saxon]

W A R M A S T E R
Humbarine

[] Last Stand []

Objective: Establish a Landing Zone for Mandalorian extraction​

Allies: Celt Saxon | Iris Beroya | Carduul Akahl | Mandalorians
Enemies: Darth Carnifex | Lysander von Ascania | Garza Inari | Anet Raine | Eurydice | Sith


Romul swung downwards for the killing blow, leveraging his momentum, gravity, and strength as he brought his warhammer up and down directly towards Carnifex's skull. Yet centimeters from impacting against the Sith Lord, it froze, suspended mid-air as if perfectly countered. The sudden jolt made Romul grunt with the change in inertia, though ablative dampers prevented his shoulders from dislocating. They stood there, locked, until Carnifex stretched out and struck Romul directly in his breast plate faster than the Alor could move to defend himself. The force knocked him backwards.

Swinging his hammer back and around, Romul braced himself, bending at his knees, balancing himself against the rumbling movement of the massive leviathan beneath them. He wanted to see what Carnifex would do; he wasn't the least surprised to see the Sith lord leap from the beast's back. Romul only hesitated momentarily. The warmaster removed a comm transmitter from his utility belt, strapping it to the harness that the Sith had left behind. "Gallius, orbital strike these coordinates. No confirmation needed." Confident that the comm transmitter would remain strapped to the beast, Romul leapt to follow his foe. They would only have moments before the subsequent strike, Romul anticipated.

He landed mere paces from Carnifex as Xorvyrnog rumbled away, striding as he aimed towards Carnifex's side with a wide swing. The Dark Lord's lightsaber thoomed to life, its deep red plasma blade meeting the beskar warhammer with a crack. Romul swung up and over, putting his weight into each blow. No matter how hard he swung, though, his strikes seemed to be perfectly countered. Carnifex met each swing blow for blow tirelessly. Romul set the pace, pushing even as he seemed to find no weakness. So long as the Dark Lord was occupied with him, Romul's true objective -- the monster leviathan -- should be taken out by their ships in orbit. But though he waited for it, as of yet, turbolasers had not fired down from the sky

Where was that strike?

Static burst through his helmet's earpiece. He thought it would be Gallius, but he was wrong. "--Landing zone. Heavy casualties--" cracked Dragus's voice, but it was barely discernible from the interference. Romul would not be able to hold the Alor'ad's hand. All of his commandos knew how to take care of themselves in the pitch of battle and would know to withdraw if necessary without waiting for him.

Romul pressed Carnifex. His warhammer came crashing down, and the Sith pivoted from one side to the other in a single fluid motion. His cloak fanned out in the motion, and overhead lightning flashed crimson, sharply illuminating the rain-dashed scene for a moment. In a single moment of clarity as the pair's weapons clashed, Romul could see what had been etched on the Sith's cloak. He recognized the distinct sheen of beskar. The hundreds of Clan insignias emblazoned on each scale, every one familiar to the old man. One stood out against the rest; the Suhrbir of Clan Saxon.

Grief and rage like twin flames coursed through his body as he disengaged and swung again. The architect of the Mandalorian Genocide said nothing as he parried. Romul fought his passion, smothering it with warrior's discipline. He could not be blinded in a moment as critical as this. He swung his ammer again. Beskar and plasma clashed, sparks flying as they coated the two.

A channel popped, a wash of white noice, then a voice cutting clearly through. Dragus. "Alor, we have your position. Overhead and holding." Romul swung once more and, using the momentum and inertia of the blow, pushed him backwards several meters from the Sith. "Your corridor is closing," he radioed back. The storm had worsened. In the back of his mind was the Sith's abomination. That strike had not yet come. This entire sector was in danger.

Dragus was not slow to respond. "No vod left behind, Alor," he quoted Romul. "Standby for extraction."

Romul obeyed. He refrained from striking the Dark Lord once more, hopping back with a burst of his jetpack as he simultaneously ignited his plasma caster on his wrist brace, spraying a bright fan of white-hot plasma and flame at the Dark lord to create distance. Through the storm, the distinct hum of the dropship's thrusters grew louder as it descended, its bright search lights focusing on Romul, whose frame cast a large shadow that extended out to Carnifex. Bay doors slid open, Dragus hanging out with a blaster in one hand. "Alor, we're not leaving without you -- move!"

Romul turned and jetpacked towards the open bay doors. At that same moment, fire -- hellfire -- rained down from the heavens, cutting through the storm as bright turbolaser and mass driver weapons slammed from low orbit into the ground below, not far off from where Romul, Carnifex, and the shuttle stood. A massive explosion, almost nuclear, sent a shockwave throughout the area. The dropship, in the air, careened to one side, thrusters whining in protest as its pilot frantically fought to avoid slamming into any of the adjacent buildings. Romul mid-air got knocked by the shockwave straight into the side of a building, creating a crater in the ferrocrete on impact.

Objective: Establish Orbital Supremacy Establish a corridor for withdrawal

[] STRONGER, TOGETHER []​

Allies: Seva Beroya | Kjartan Hammer-Hand | Yolaghun | Iris Beroya | Mandalorians
Enemies: Emissary of Strife | Vesper Thrace | Tavi Corvask | Sith

The Kalden and Haran vibrated as their weapons platforms engaged in full-strength with the Imperial blockade, trading fire from turbolaser batteries, mass drivers, and missiles as the two Star Destroyers charged the formation undaunted. They were perhaps hopelessly outnumbered, but outsized nearly all the ships in the divided blockade except for its flagship. It was towards the Serrated Claw. Creepy.

The constant pressure was eating into the defensive systems of both ships. As highly developed as they were, constant bombardment from numbers vastly more than theirs was taking its toll.

AWACS Watcher
«Protect the dropships, whatever the cost.»​

The Star Destroyers were in the formation itself, moving past the Burenaar'gam of Kjartan Hammer-Hand and the Imperial flagship, trading broadsides as they slid through the line with the fluidity of zero-gravity movement. But they did not focus their full firepower on the battlecruiser, nor the surrounding fleet, and continued to push onwards past the line of the blockade itself. Klaxons blared aboard the ship's deck as they neared dangerous proximity to the Imperial vessels. Shields began to be pushed towards their critical levels. But the sister Star Destroyers had their one mission to complete:

Get their vode home.

As dropships and starfighters began to push through the atmosphere, Imperial TIEs were soaring to meet them. But the planetside vode were not alone. Basilisk and Jai'galaar air superiority starfighter squadrons from the Star Destroyer's hangar deployed, streaking down after the TIE horde. They were numerically disadvantaged, but well armed and shielded, and their sensor scramblers would transmit bogus signals to the TIEs, confusing their sensors and targeting systems with an artificially inflated horde of Mandalorian ships. If anything else, the fake numbers would do much to strike fear in the hearts of the imperial forces.

The Star Destroyers rained hellfire on all Imperial ships, point-defense missiles streaming from missile bays, laser cannons firing on all throttles at the Imperial starfighters. Anti-capital weapons rumbled furiously. They slanted to the side to reveal their hangar bay doors, primarily for the dropships. All dropships and starfighters were equipped with hyperdrives, but many would be damaged and need the larger Star Destroyers to physically shield them. Time was ticking down; every second counted now in the extraction operation.

More importantly, by moving past the Imperial blockade, the two Star Destroyers could finally strike the coordinates Romul's comm transmitter was transmitting. Triangulating the frequency, several heavy turbolaser batteries and mass driver cannons from both ships locked on the target, then fired multiple volleys. The effect on the surface of an orbital bombardment of that magnitude would be devastating.

The bridge of the Grat'tua Dral shook under heavy, sustained fire. The space battle had crescendoed to its extreme pitch. The Gra'tua Dral's stasis webifiers had trapped and destroyed the frigates that had charged the Star Destroyer, but divided its armaments among the battlecruiser, the frigates advancing, and the group of Imperial star destroyers and accompanying cruisers. There was only so much it could do. The solar ion cannon of the battlecruiser had dealt significant though not fatal damage to the Mandalorian group; their molecular shielding had held up well enough. But well enough was not, simply, enough as their shields began reaching critical low levels.

"Two ships on a vector for collision," a scan-comm technician shouted in earnest. Dragus had already prepared to make evasive maneuvers.

"Prepare to face them head-on," Gallius countercommanded.

"Alor'aan," Ignus started in protest.

Gallius stopped it immediately. "We will face them head-on. Target the critical systems of the cruiser with the solar ionization battery. Fire when ready. The siege emitter will impact the Mother Mercy. When they are close enough, fire when ready. Meanwhile, fire all our weapon systems at the Mother Mercy. Open hangar bays; prepare to receive our vode."

Then Gallius opened his transmissions to the wider fleet and AWAC channels. "All vode. Nau'braar Astrocartograph Command has pushed hyperspace jump calculations to all astrogation computers. Prepare for hyperspace jump on the destruction of interdiction fields." All the Iron Covenant would jump together. Not one vod left behind.

"Siege-emitter is ready, Alor'aan." Ignus's voice was filled with doubt and determination in one instance. Gallius silently praised his vod for his loyalty.

The Mother Mercy drew nearer, her speed hampered by the Gra'tua Dral's star anchor, but that was what Gallius wanted precisely. Ambiently, the solar ionization battery thoomed as it fired at the incoming Victory-class Star Destroyer, but the Mandalorian and Sith vessels were on their own independent vector. By charging the Sith battlecruiser, the Gra'tua Dral was at the same time evading the Imperial cruiser. As they neared, getting close enough to where collision would be all but inevitable, Gallius released his final card.

"Siege emitter, fire!"

The Gra'tua Dral's siege emitter fired, an ultra-powered stellar roar, a gravitic shear with combined EMP effect intended to significantly disrupt sensors, shields, electronics, and spatial stability. The wave surged outwards directly at the Mother Mercy, and would hopefully offset the battlecruisers course altogether, as well as disrupt its shields and electronic systems temporarily. "Hard bank portside!" Gallius roared with it. Their timing had to be exact. If a window were created, they had to seize it.

Spoiler: Fleet Composition

• x3 Ha'rangir-class Star Destroyers
  • Gra'tua Dral [STAR ANCHOR ENGAGED | Shields 28% | Hull 68% | ARMOR COMPONENT ENGAGED | Structure 90%] - Flagship
  • Haran [Shields 35% | Hull 85% | ARMOR COMPONENT ENGAGED | Structure 150%]
  • Kalden [Shields 24% | Hull 82% | ARMOR COMPONENT ENGAGED | Structure 150%]
• Dalab-class Strike Carrier
  • Havey'ir [Shields 33% | Hull 70% | Structure 76%]
• Ka'yatr-class Suppressive Cruiser
  • Akior [Shields 47% | Hull 76% | Structure 100%]
• x3 Brokur-class Heavy Assault Cruisers
  • Tal'galar [Shields 0% | Hull 0% | Structure 0%] Totaled
  • Stri'liir [Shields 34% | Hull 78% | Structure 100%]
  • Sur'ar [Shields 62% | Hull 80% | Structure 100%]

Spoiler: Actions